addiction
The realities of addition; the truth about living under, above and beyond the influence of drugs and alcohol.
Tea for Two
The hundreds of miles from Guatemala to Texas play out like a movie in my head. I see my ten-month-old daughter tucked into her papoose against my chest, and my wife Chetta clinging to my arm as we trudged the path to the United States wearily. Chetta is swollen and heavy with our second child. I see our guide finally waving us into the land of freedom. Chetta is in a lot of pain from having contractions for the last few hours of our journey. I wrap my arm around her, squishing Nina between us, “Almost there mi amor.” I whisper to her. A truck is waiting for our group of forty immigrants. The plan was to go to Laredo, and then, dispersing, find our own way from there.
By alia weylock6 years ago in Psyche
Giving up
This wasn't easy for me. For years I thought you were going to change. I´ve seen you power through the struggle and be the man I always wanted. You were hard-working, a loving father and a sympathetic lover. The day you chose to put that needle into your arm is the day you gave up, and the day I should have. Now I'm sitting here wondering why I didn't do this a long time ago. But I loved you. I trusted; When you were untrustworthy. I had faith; When you were unfaithful. I held on when you let go. I have struggled for the last few years trying to put you together, picking up the broken pieces and frantically trying to put them back. But, every time I thought I found two pieces that fit… They would fall out of my hands and break again. When I think about what you put me through. The darker, colossal, intimidating demons that possessed you when you pushed that precious concoction into your veins. The ones that nobody else has seen. The stories I never told anyone. I see it in your eyes. Everytime. a switch turns. The lights are off and you're not there anymore. It's like looking into an abyss. I see all the hatred and lies inside those not so empty eyes. They tell me so much, I read them like an open book and I used to think that in there somewhere.. I could see a cry for help. Fragile, faint and and dim; But it was there. It was like hearing a wolf cry in the distance. I don't hear it anymore. No longer will I lose sleep at night wondering where you are. No longer am I going to cry myself to sleep because I don't know if you are dead or alive or if you are alright. No longer will I wait, beg, and plead for you to let me try and help you. I have done what I could and it is no longer enough. I am physically and emotionally drained. Loving you has taught me a lot. Loving you taught me that sometimes you have to give up. and that's okay. I swore to myself growing up that I would get away from all of this. That these drugs were done affecting my life in such a massive way. I watched everybody I loved dwindle and wither away to dust and I was going to get away and never put up with it again. Funny I ended up with you. The very thing I promised myself I would never tolerate. The more I fell in love with you the harder it was. I just wanted to help. I finally realize I can't. I can't make you want something. I thought I could do it. I also thought that I needed you. The beautiful thing about life, is people grow and change but you took a wrong turn somewhere and took the unsightly route. I understand addiction. I do. I've seen it my entire life and I have seen the positive and negative outcomes. It’s one thing when you are wholeheartedly trying. When you really want it to be over and you're struggling. But, It's another when you're not. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. You were my one. My only. All I ever wanted was you. When I say “you” I’m not really sure who i’m talking about anymore. I dont think its the you I fell for. The you I love. You walked through that deadly door, shut it, locked it and never turned to look back. You are your own person that makes your own decisions and I have to accept that. It cuts me like a knife every time I see you make the wrong ones or every time those lies roll off your tongue; and you believe, that I believe you. I tried for a long time to trick myself into believing it too.. you and I both know I didn’t. Now, that knife has cut me so many times that I don’t feel it anymore. I’m numb. Not completely, but in a way that its not pain, not grief, or sadness. Its anger. More so at myself than anyone. For letting this continue for as long as it has. For not standing up for myself and my children and doing what was best for them. That mistake is going to take a lot of recovery time and will probably haunt me the rest of my life. I really hope that you and the kids can have a relationship in the future and that it's not too late for you. When my father did these same things to me when I was a child… I grew up and put the pieces together. I figured it out. Now, It's a little late, Because he waited to long. whether or not he's doing well now is no concern to me. I gave up. I hope our children don't have to go through life wondering why they were never enough for you to be a part of their life or why drugs came before they did. Those were always questions I had for my parents. I watched my mom overdose as a child. All I remember is the ambulance coming and getting her and me going to another family member's home. Go figure.. Because years later that's how her life ended. She could still be here. I need to heal. That's why I am taking the knife out of your hands and I am going to take some time to mend my wounds and salvage what I have left of myself. Which, believe me isn't a whole lot. I need the space and the time. I don't know how much or how long. I need to stop being blinded by love and memories and live in the present. Right here, right now. This isn't healthy. A lose:lose. For you, for me, and for our beautiful babies.. Were like fire and gasoline. You finally got to the end of the line you never thought I had. That, hell, I never knew I had. Thank you. Really for teaching me so much about myself. Every time you picked up that needle and injected “life” into yourself you depleted it out of me. Your eyes grow stooped and tired because you've been up for days. Mine, because I didn't sleep last night not knowing if after that fight we had and you left.. If I would ever see you again. You're angry because I care. Im angry because you don't. I'm tired of fighting and being inferior to a fatal syrup inside a needle. Every Time you locked that bathroom door, I died inside. My heart and stomach dropped like going down ten floors in an elevator. My eyes welled up with water. Hot and unable to breathe I try to keep it together because out of the corner of my eye that four year old little boy that calls you daddy is watching my every move and listening to every syllable that falls out of my mouth. Those times you held those loaded guns to your head. I have never felt so terrified in my entire life. If your finger ever would of put enough pressure on that trigger I would of lost it. Little do you know my plan was to stay so close to you because I could try grab it from you and turn it away. Even if it was in my direction because I would’ve lost my life if it meant saving yours. But, you're losing it now. Your life. Just not as quickly. I wish you knew how painful it is for me to write this. These memories are still so vivid and fresh like they were yesterday. I sit here writing this. trying to find the words to describe. In all honesty, this doesn’t do the real feelings and memories any justice. I'm watching you pick up the shovel and dig your own grave. Every needle is another few inches deeper. I watch you transform in front of me from a healthy, strong man and beautiful soul into a delicate, drab bag of bones. Your blue eyes turn black. Those lavish, long eyelashes get picked out. Your full lips become dehydrated. Cracked and barren as a desert. Your clothes become ill-fitting and unshapely. Your soft skin becomes drenched with sweat and oily as the bottom of a fast food bag. I loved you. With everything I had. I lived for you and tiresley put every ounce. Every last drop of hope, love, faith, and commitment into you, into us, into our relationship. You never miss the water ‘till the well has run dry. My soul is so old after these years. I’m lost, confused, and don’t know where to begin again. Although I am confident I will find my way. I’m not so sure you will find yours. I am no longer depending on the day I do not have to search for used needles clinking inside empty soda cans in the trash to prove to you that I know you're using and lying to me about it. I will no longer hope that I do not come across a tiny bag with reminisce of a white, crystal substance or find used tinfoil with black residue along side a straw or taken apart pen. I will not pray that you do not find my wallet and take bill money for drugs. I will not wish that you be put away in jail so I am assured of your safety. I will not wonder if you are cheating on me for a ninth time. I am not an addict. But try and love one and then see if you can look me square in the eyes and tell me that you didn't get addicted to trying to fix them. I will not, because I am giving up.
By Stephanie Sell6 years ago in Psyche
On Calling Myself an Addict for the First Time
I was an addict for about a decade before I realized it. It's not like I didn't know I drank too much all those years. Even if I hadn't, from time to time, read up on how much alcohol was "too much," I think I would have had some idea that consuming around 8-12 ounces of hard liquor nearly every day for several years was going overboard.
By Cecil Adkins6 years ago in Psyche
The Daily Struggle of High-Functioning Alcoholism
As I write this, I’ve been sober for 685 days. And I have thought about drinking for each one of those 685 days. Unlike a lot of people who have problems with alcohol, I didn’t start drinking as a teenager. In fact, I don’t think I had my first drink until after I was 21. After those first few drinks, I didn’t drink again until I was in my mid-30s. I became friends with a college-age guy at my workplace who drank more than anyone I had personally known (and I had several alcoholics in my family) but who still managed to go to class and work every day and generally keep his life together. He’s now a lawyer and seems to be doing well.
By Cecil Adkins6 years ago in Psyche
Alcohol is the "UN" Drink: Unhealthy, Unattractive, and Causes Untimely Death
iI was driving down the road as fast as my car would go, and it's night, so I don't see very well. Suddenly I started laughing wildly and decided to drive on the wrong side of the road to see what that felt like. I could have been killed and killed someone else, but I was so drunk I didn't think logically.
By Denise Willis6 years ago in Psyche
RX: Theory Of A Dead Man Saved My Life
In the start I would like to explain how music has made a colossal impact on my life from the time that I lost my best friend in an ugly battle with heroin. The stiffness of my soul seemed almost impossible to release. Losing him made the world stop dead in its tracks and as life went on without him, I too became a casualty.
By The Darkest Sunrise6 years ago in Psyche
Normy and Not Another Funeral
My cousin calls me last night and tells me the Fred, the boyfriend of her daughter, died on Sunday from a heroin overdose. My little cousin, her daughter Rachel, is on a trip out of state right now and flying home on a bereavement pass tomorrow morning. Fred was always really sweet and they were talking about getting married. Now she and our family will be attending his funeral and she will be sitting next to his mother in the front row of the chapel instead of standing with him at the front of the church. The flowers will be overwhelming and there will be friends sharing stories of love but there won’t be any happy wedding toasts with sparkling cider. These funerals of overdose victims can’t really be celebrations of life, since the addict didn’t love life more than they loved their drug of choice, right?
By Sarah Seas6 years ago in Psyche
